This story is the third in a series. The first story is Bound to the Law, which is in the Classics section. The second story is Bound to the Law II: Pierced by Circumstance in Late Models. Comments on this story can be sent to: Dawnrca@earthlink.net
Hutch unclipped the little weights, ball sack and clamps in a remarkably short time considering how slowly he'd put them all on, but Starsky still howled as the blood rushed back into his abused body. He flicked the release on the clamp that held Starsky's hands together, gathering his love into his arms. Not bothering to remove the ankle spreader for now, Hutch hooked his foot around a nearby wingback chair, pulling it close enough to enable him to sit down with Starsky in his lap. The wide spread of Starsky's legs made it an awkward fit but that wasn't terribly important for the moment.
"Hey, hey," Hutch soothed, making soothing circles around Starsky's bright red nipples, but not quite touching them. "It's okay now, you were fantastic." Starsky was crying, his face against Hutch's shoulder, making a mess of the cream-colored raw silk shirt, but Hutch didn't mind. "Sweet love, little one, how are you doing?" he asked gently. He couldn't utter an apology for causing the pain, even though he was sorry it had hurt. After all, that had been the expected outcome; he just hadn't expected to hurt Starsky so badly. But to paraphrase a novel popular a few years earlier, "Dominance meant never having to say you're sorry." And that was totally understood by his lover and best friend or he wouldn't have begun the encounter in the first place.
"Better." Starsky rubbed the back of his hand under his nose, but it didn't help matters. He only smeared the mess around, looking all the world like a tousled child.
"How was it, otherwise?" Hutch located a box of tissues on the side table with a long arm and cleaned up the dark-haired man's face.
"That little bag thing felt okay, before the fishing weights." Starsky gave a nod, relaxing against Hutch's chest even though his still bound ankles kept him from getting really comfortable. "But those alligator teeth are wicked, like spikes." He regarded the pile of bondage toys on the floor. "You must go shopping all the time."
"I think about you all the time, and then I have to plan for the next game," Hutch replied fondly. He kissed Starsky's cheek, his lips skimming the jaw line before his lips met the other's, drawn there as if by magnets.
"What other games do you have in mind?" Starsky asked with a reckless grin, so close Hutch could see himself reflected in those fathomless deep blue eyes.
"You'll find out. But first something to keep our strength up." Hutch gave Starsky a gentle shove to push him up onto his widely braced feet. "Stand up so I can go warm up the chowder."
"I can't balance with this thing on," Starsky complained grabbing hold of the chair. Even so, he teetered, the rigid bar restricting his stance. "Take it off."
"Is that a question or a demand?" Hutch bristled, drawing himself up to use his height as power.
"Hutch, I hurt, an' this thing..." Starsky's voice died away abruptly at the stern expression in the blond's eyes. Just Hutch's finger pointing stiffly at him was enough to make him back down. "I was wrong, okay? I know it, I should wear this damn...thing for the rest of the day."
"I like the look on you." Hutch softened but with a somewhat perverse reaction to Starsky's demands. As much as Starsky wanted the rod removed, Hutch was determined to leave it on. He never meant for Starsky to feel guilty, but there were times when it was necessary to make a show of dominance. "It'll slow you down so I don't have to run as fast to keep up." Hutch put his arms around Starsky's shoulders, touching forehead to forehead. "I love you."
"Am I in trouble?"
"Your first demerit of the day." He didn't tell Starsky one demerit wasn't enough to get him to bring out the whip. Hutch had already decided that he didn't want every session to be about pain and especially about punishment. Today's incident just solidified his theory that a little pain play went a long way. Starsky's anticipation of pain shouldn't cancel out his enthusiasm for the more arousing and pleasurable aspects of their time together. This was supposed to be fun, and if all Hutch ever did was keep adding more rules that Starsky just broke, the punishments would start to pile up. He was glad he hadn't yet bought a whip or spanking implement. It didn't seem fair to apply the whip when only a few strokes were due. A better plan was to have the demerits build up until there were enough to warrant the ritual of a real punishment, then focus a really intense session around that. Perhaps every other time, if they ever made it through the end of this one.
"Sit down while I make some dinner." Hutch helped Starsky sit more comfortably in the wingback chair. By angling his knees towards each other Starsky could sit leaning back but the spreader bar splayed his ankles out so he couldn't get up on his own. Starsky looked decidedly grumpy about it, his cock lying limply between his thighs like a deflated balloon.
"I've got a few ideas for that thing. Leave it on through dinner." Hutch couldn't resist reaching over to run a teasing finger over the tempting target. Starsky rocked his hips forward, obviously wanting Hutch's hand wrapped around his shaft, but Hutch just tweaked the end and then walked into the kitchen. Starsky sucked on his bottom lip, shifting his hips in discomfort but didn't raise a protest.
Opening a plastic container Hutch poured creamy clam chowder into a pot and started ripping up lettuce leaves for salad. He'd brought vine ripened tomatoes and slices of crunchy cucumber to complete the dish and was trying to decide whether to make a vinaigrette for dressing or use the blue cheese he'd included in the cooler.
"Hutch," Starsky called plaintively.
"Yes?" Looking over the breakfast bar Hutch felt a swell of incredible emotion fill his chest. Starsky looked like some dark supernatural creature, a Satyr perhaps, hobbled by the leather and metal that bound him in this world. The dark curly hair that covered his body gave him such an exotic appearance next to Hutch's smooth, blond paleness that they truly seemed to belong in different worlds. Just the sight of Starsky alive and breathing could arouse Hutch at times like this. After Gunther's bullets had ripped open that beautiful body Hutch had been sure Starsky would never be able to lead a normal life again. That he regained his old exuberance and made it back onto the police force was a miracle of mythic proportions. That the horrendous events had propelled the two of them into a sexual relationship was so awe inspiring Hutch sometimes had to indulge in rapt admiration of his true love for the sheer joy of it.
"I have to pee."
"Oh." Hutch refocused on the here and now. "Can you wait a minute? I'll wash my hands." He had recently been reading a book on topping that devoted one whole chapter to the advantages of water sports and bladder training. Or how to take total control by forcing the bottom to ask for all bathroom privileges. This struck him as debasement of the crudest form, and it would never fit into his game plan. "I'm coming."
"So am I, can you hurry?"
Hutch chuckled, releasing Starsky from the cuffs and ankle spreader. Starsky dashed for the toilet with the speed of an Olympic sprinter. Then there was the fact that Starsky had a bladder the size of a pea. It would probably be pointless and frustrating to try and train that miniscule thing anyway.
Fighting back an overwhelming feeling that he was being mean, Hutch contemplated his dominant side. There was no doubt that he did like the whole control power trip. But he didn't intend to come across as a tyrant. Starsky had to be able to maintain his pride and self worth at all costs. There was such a narrow margin between dominance in the sexual arena and being deliberately cruel. How far was too far? What if he lost sight of his humanity and gave into that streak of savagery that dwelt within even the kindest person? It kept him humble, this fear that he could step over that invisible line and really injure his slave. What happened when the stakes got higher? Right now they were just experimenting, testing the waters, so to speak, of what bondage had to offer. If Starsky learned to tolerate more intense pain play, could he be injured without either of them knowing?
Hutch had to be so vigilant. He'd been so wrapped up in trying to distract Starsky from the extreme discomfort caused by the clamps and weights that he'd nearly forgotten his primary job: to keep his submissive safe. But the blowjob had been so much fun. He'd been trying so hard to give Starsky a modicum of pleasure and ended up adding to the pain. He tucked the sense of failure deep in the recesses of his mind to mull over in some other place, now was time to move on.
A warm hand snaked around the tall, blond's waist. "What's wrong?" Starsky asked with concern.
"Nothing, really." Hutch pointed to the kitchen. "Chowder's probably ready. Set the table?"
Preparations for the meal gave both something concrete to concentrate on so that by the time they were eating, each had weathered their respective rough patches and met back on common ground.
"S'good," Starsky nodded, spooning up the thick, tasty soup.
"One of my Mom's best recipes."
"D'you think I wimped out?" Starsky stared at his nearly empty bowl instead of meeting Hutch's gaze.
"Oh, Starsk." Hutch's heart went out to him. Starsky was fiddling with his spoon; his shoulders slumped forward as if he were guilty for letting the pain get to him. "For using your safeword? Never. That's what it's there for." He closed his hand around Starsky's, waiting until the pointed chin raised and they were looking eye to eye. "The situation got too much for you and you let me know. I need to know what you're feeling. I'm proud of you."
"Yeah." Picking up the dishes and depositing them in the kitchen, Hutch leaned against the dividing wall between the two rooms, languid and sensual. "Are you in the mood for dessert?" It was pretty much a trick question; Starsky was always ready for sweets.
"Chocolate Fudge sauce."
"That's it?" Starsky knit his brow. "What're you gonna put it on? Strawberries? Ice cream?"
"You," Hutch said with a broad grin, already anticipating the feast.
"Oh," Starsky giggled. "Don't I get any?"
"Me first, then you get what's left." Hutch couldn't wait to taste the mingled flavors of Starsky covered in chocolate. His mouth was already watering. "Let's take this upstairs--I've got a vinyl sheet to protect the bed and the bath tub'll be that much closer afterwards." He made shooing motions as Starsky stood. "Get up those stairs."
"You just wanna watch my butt."
"I always watch your back, partner."
Starsky scampered up the twisting stairs, wiggling his derriere coyly at his master. Hutch managed to grab the gym bag full of toys before charging up after his prize. The stairs swayed slightly with their combined weight pounding up the risers.
Starsky had already made it into a large master bedroom by the time Hutch arrived and was wandering around examining the furnishings. The bed was massive, big enough for three or four adults, topped by an enormous open lattice headboard just made for shackling limbs in interesting contortions. As with the living room, multicolored silk, satin and velvet pillows abounded on the bed and floor, for lounging wherever the action demanded. Burgundy curtains shot through with gold thread framed a window looking out into the branches of evergreens.
"Feels like we're in a treehouse." Starsky put a hand to the glass, almost touching two parrots that were perched inches away.
"Our own secret hide-away." Hutch pulled Starsky up close, standing behind him so his chin rested on Starsky's shoulder. He nuzzled the warm, sweet spot just below the leather collar where the neck sloped down to meet the shoulder. Starsky shivered, goosebumps breaking out on his flesh from the intimate contact.
"I love you so much." Starsky clasped the hands that went around his waist like a belt. "Hutch, I love you so much it hurts sometimes. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll..." He turned around in Hutch's embrace, not wanting those long-fingered hands to let go.
"What?" Hutch asked softly, gathering him in as closely as he could. Starsky felt needy in a way that he usually didn't admit to.
"When we're not together even if you're just across the room, it's like I'm dying...I need to feel your hands on me." Starsky was like an addict, craving his drug of choice--Hutch's touch. His skin quivered every place there was contact between them, the warmth of Hutch's skin against his both soothing and electric. "Do what ever you want to me, I don't care, just don't leave me?" The memory of their fight the night of Carlysle's murder suddenly frightened him. Even though they were together once more on a bondage weekend, he was afraid that his ambivalence over Hutch's punishing him with the leather strap would change things.
"What brought this on?" Hutch stroked his lover's arms, smoothing out the goosebumps and massaging the tension that resided there. "I thought we worked everything out."
"I don't know, I just...looking out there into the trees, it seemed so lonely."
"You'll never be alone," Hutch vowed, leaning in for one little kiss. It quickly multiplied into a host of kisses, each one more passionate than the last. "Being with you is always fantastic, but when we're like this...it's so fucking perfect. You are more amazing every time we do this. I throw stuff at you and you never miss a beat, you just go with every single..."
"I guess I found my calling," Starsky joked, his emotions on a more even keel. "Now, where's that chocolate sauce?"
Hutch gave him one last kiss, then opened the gym bag he'd left on the floor. Starsky waited, watching with excitement. Like the collar and cuffs around his neck, he was never allowed to touch the gym bag or its contents. But sometimes he imagined it to be akin to Mary Poppins' magic carpetbag. Unimaginable things emerged from that bag, sex toys he'd never seen before, new and devious ways to tie him up and now a big vinyl sheet and a jar of thick, delicious chocolate. "Pull back the coverlet and put this on the bed," Hutch instructed while undressing.
Starsky did so, stepping back to admire the view, only the one inside the bungalow this time. Hutch's long, sleek torso was close to god-like, in Starsky's opinion. He could easily imagine that blond, swimmer's body gliding alongside dolphins through the waters of a mystical sea, erupting up out of the waves with nary a splash to present himself at the altar of Zeus himself. There, Hutch would be crowned with olive leaves and hailed as Hercules' brother, just as strong, gorgeous and talented as his sibling.
"Hey, were you listening a minute ago?" Hutch's masterful voice jolted Starsky out of his reverie. "I told you to put that on the bed. Are you asking for a demerit?"
No, he certainly was not. Starsky hurriedly draped the cloth over the burgundy and gold Opium patterned sheets. Then, climbing onto the bed he knelt in full slave position: settling back on his heels, hands on his thighs, eyes downward so that his chin dug into the edge of his collar.
"So sweet." Hutch slid a hand down to cup Starsky's very interested genitals, fondling them with a possessive hand. "All for me. You were made for this, Starsk."
"Lie back and grab the slats of the bed, put your arms as far apart as you can comfortably."
Starsky complied. The bed was so huge he wasn't even touching both ends of the headboard, but when Hutch grasped Starsky's arms, he pulled them one slat further over, shackling each cuff tightly to the rings tucked neatly into each wooden slat.
"Oh, man." Starsky already felt the incredible strain on his shoulders and swallowed with a gulp. Restrained with his arms this far apart, he was arched up slightly, unable to lie completely flat on the bed. Hutch stuffed a few pillows under the curve of Starsky's body before retrieving the ankle cuffs and spreader bar from the gym bag. He attached these with practiced ease so that Starsky was spread eagled on the bed, but with his legs more mobile than they would be tied to the footboard.
"Now comes dessert." Hutch held up a small round jar with a fancy gold embossed label and a paintbrush. "It says to apply liberally and then enjoy with sex. Sounds easy enough, don't you think?"
"So easy even you could do it," Starsky teased, then realized with horror that he'd slipped out of character. He'd answered as if they were joking back in the Torino on a stakeout, not as a submissive to his master. Prudently, he held his tongue, flicking a worried glance at Hutch.
"One more demerit," was all Hutch said, going about his task with the dexterity of a housepainter. He slapped the chocolate laden brush over Starsky's abdomen, applying a thick layer of fudge sauce to every inch of skin from the belly button down to the pelvis. For the moment he avoided the waiting cock standing up so prettily, and made sure his strokes were long and regular, flicking back and forth between the hipbones.
It was halfway between tickling and itchy, making Starsky squirm and wiggle away from the soft brush. The chocolate aroma coiled around him, smelling of cookies and hot cocoa as his body temperature heated up the concoction. He longed to taste some of that sweet flavor on Hutch's body, but first had to endure Hutch's teasing.
Once Starsky was nearly as enrobed in chocolate as a marshmallow egg at Easter time, Hutch swirled one finger through the goo, then raised his tasty treat up to his mouth. He licked the chocolate off making yummy sounds that only succeeded in spurring Starsky's excitement.
"Please, Master," Starsky cooed, trying to sound as submissive as possible, "may I have a taste?"
"Have you been good?" Hutch asked, blue eyes twinkling wickedly. Starsky chuckled at the transformation of his usually calm and in-control partner.
"More like not very hard." Hutch flicked his tongue out, dipping it into the tiny well of chocolate in Starsky's belly button. "Tastes great."
"You want me to beg, don't you?" Starsky tried to control the urge to squirm as Hutch lapped up chocolate, licking and tasting all across his flat belly. Starsky wanted to thrust his cock straight into that luscious mouth.
"It's the only way you're going to get any right now," Hutch said with his head still ducked over his giant chocolate bunny. He nipped, his teeth sharp on the tight skin over Starsky's hipbone and Starsky bucked, yelping in surprise.
"Please, Master, please...kiss me," Starsky begged, gasping with every single movement of Hutch's mouth over his supercharged skin. At least a kiss would bring that mouth up close to his, and he'd taste some of the chocolaty goodness for himself.
"A kiss?" Hutch laughed sensually. "Starsky, Hershey's makes chocolate kisses, not me." He went back to his task, but he'd removed most of the brown cream from his slave's belly and now concentrated lower, on the hugely swollen cock and balls. He plunged his whole hand into the jar of chocolate sauce, raising his hand up dripping with thick, pungent dark cream then went to work turning Starsky's stiff rod into a fudgecicle. Once his creation was complete, Hutch regarded his hand with a gleam in his sky blue eyes. Pre-cum had mingled with the sweet mess, making an interesting new concoction that he was eager to try. But even more eager was his bound supplicant. Starsky was arching forward, putting immense strain on his shoulder muscles in an attempt to get anything more than chocolate around his cock.
"You want a taste?" Hutch asked.
"Please." Starsky's reply was hardly above a whisper, his breath coming in short ragged puffs of air that vibrated his belly and chest.
"Lick it off." Hutch laughed holding his coated fingers up close to Starsky's mouth. With a forefinger, he traced the outline of Starsky's lower lip, leaving a trail of chocolate behind. Darting his tongue out to lick up the residue, Starsky encountered the thumb pressed against his philtrum and sucked it in. Decadently rich, sinfully smooth chocolate filled his mouth as he clamped down on that thumb, his tongue hugging the rounded end, pretending it was a tiny, perfect cock. There was a hint of salty bitterness in the sauce that Starsky recognized as his own essence. He swallowed himself, letting his own seed fill his body, to rebirth his soul. This was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. To give his all for Hutch, and be given so much more in return.
Starsky moaned with disappointment when Hutch popped the thumb out, but he quickly replaced it with each of the other four sisters, until Starsky was half drunk on the food of the gods. He was so high he barely felt the restraints binding him to the bed.
With his hand now clean, Hutch applied it to more southern regions, circling the chocolate stick with his thumb and forefinger. He slicked a small amount of sweetness on the balls behind and slipped one into his own mouth, tonguing the sensitive sack until Starsky was begging him to stop and keep going at the same time.
"Ohyeahgod!" Starsky rocked forward, wanting the fingers around his shaft to move or rub, something, he was so close to the edge it hurt like heaven.
"You think I'm a god?"
"I think you're everything," Starsky gasped, his eyes shut.
"You want me to finish you off?" Hutch took his mouth off his partner's balls, tightening his grip on the cock at the same time. Starsky screamed with pleasure, needing to move, to grab himself, anything to relieve the intense pressure built up inside him but Hutch was kneeling across the spreader bar, making it impossible for Starsky to do anything but wait.
"Finish me off, please, so I can die happy."
"Your wish is my command." Hutch pumped his hand twice then grinned as Starsky seemed to soar into space without moving a foot off the bed.
"That was terrific," Starsky whispered when he had learned how to breathe again.
"Now the master gets his turn," Hutch said haughtily, but with a grin on his face.
"Bring it on, big boy." Starsky grinned in return. This was fun, even with his hips beginning to protest the wide spread of his legs. He eyed Hutch's monstrous erection with anticipation, wondering how much of it he could jam into his mouth. He was willing to try deep-throating Hutch again, but the sensation of having his airway cut off was a very frightening one. Still, practice made perfect and he was certainly ready for some intense training.
"Wait a minute." Hutch sat back on his heels, contemplating his nicely bound slave covered in streaks of chocolate. His position put pressure on the bar keeping Starsky's feet apart and Starsky groaned at the added weight on his strained muscles.
Hutch moved slightly then helped Starsky bend his knees to pull his legs up into a more comfortable position. "I've got an idea."
"Hu-u-u-tch," Starsky moaned, staring at the tempting penis only a few feet away. He wanted it dipped in chocolate and inserted into his mouth as soon as possible.
"Be patient." Hutch leered at him, taking himself in hand and waggling the fat cock at Starsky. "Do you remember how to make a 'T' in sign language?"
"Yes," Starsky answered, puzzled. He and Hutch had both taken a class in sign language offered by the department to facilitate communication with the deaf. "Why are you thinking about this NOW?"
"You need a way to use you safeword even if your mouth is otherwise engaged."
"As if full?" Starsky stared longingly at the object of his desire. It was frustrating as hell to be trussed up like this. Any other time he could have just reached out and grabbed hold when the occasion first presented itself.
"Oh." Starsky lapsed in silence, his eyes wide. So there might be a gag in his future. He didn't know why, but that scared him more than some other things he could think of.
"Can you do this with the cuffs on?" Hutch inserted his thumb between his first and second fingers, forming the handshape for the letter 'T'. "With your left, right?"
"Right, my left," Starsky laughed, duplicating the finger symbol without difficulty.
"Good, that takes care of business. Now, where were we?" he asked wickedly.
"Just about time for Starsky to get his dessert?"
"You wanted cock with your chocolate?"
"I want it anyway it's served," Starsky sighed, wondering how Hutch could be so calm when his erection and swollen balls must be driving him crazy. They were certainly driving Starsky crazy.
Hutch simply dipped his penis into the nearly empty jar, then signaled for his slave to straighten out his legs. Starsky knew by the silent communication that Hutch was closer to the edge than he was letting on. It must be hard to keep the dominant attitude when all you wanted was to fly. Chuckling softly, Starsky had to wait until Hutch knee-walked up the bed, crouching over his chest with his knees planted on each side. It was most definitely a dominant position with Hutch nearly sitting on Starsky's chest, but Starsky wasn't intimidated. He just wanted his just desserts now.
"You can do anything you want to for the first few minutes, but when I can't control it any longer I'm going to ram down your throat, and you're gonna take every inch," Hutch said, his breath coming quicker. He was obviously ready to come, and Starsky was happy to help out. "You understand? Use the 'T' if you have to." Without another word, he let the head of his cock slip inside Starsky's waiting lips.
Using his tongue Starsky explored the rounded end, enjoying the way the chocolate coated his mouth with divine flavor, then trying to push back the foreskin to discover the sensitive regions underneath. Hutch moaned with pleasure, grabbing hold of the headboard to steady himself. Due to Starsky's industrious ministrations Hutch's cock was swelling to enormous proportions, stretching Starsky's lips beyond previous dimensions. He wasn't certain his jaw would open widely enough to take the whole breadth of the thing in and strained to accept every inch. Starsky's heart was already pounding loudly in his ears, and he drew on every bit of resolve not to panic when Hutch began to fuck his mouth with brutal thrusts. This was it.
Taking what he suspected would be his last unencumbered breath for a few minutes, Starsky sucked, pulling more of the stiff rod into his mouth. Given this invitation, Hutch forced his whole length in without further ado. Immediately Starsky was trapped, his head pushed into the pillows, his sight blocked by the pelvis so close in front of him, his breath straining in his lungs. Hutch climaxed hard and furiously, semen gushing out in a warm thick stream that poured down Starsky's throat. He could still half taste the chocolate, but the rest was all Hutch. He swallowed reflexively; gulping, closing his eyes and letting his free will float away, accepting this offering of love and devotion from his master. He was the vessel for Hutch to fill up.
The fear that Starsky had had of suffocating vanished as he floated up on the winds of time, deliriously happy to be serving his Hutch in every capacity. There was no thought of using the safeword. His enthrallment was complete with the satisfaction of doing exactly what Hutch had ordered.
"Starsk?" Hutch whispered. It took Starsky a few seconds to swim through the thick sea and surface, but he opened his eyes to see Hutch's sky blue ones peering at him anxiously. "You blacked out."
"I didn't even notice." He took a jaw-cracking breath, filling his aching lungs. "You cast a spell on me."
"We both gotta work on our technique." Hutch laughed shakily, but he still looked concerned. "I kinda thought you'd worked some magic on me, too."
"Must be this place," Starsky murmured, smiling when Hutch began to unfasten his ankles from the spreader bar. "It's not natural t'have parrots n' peacocks watchin' you make love."
Hutch kissed each ankle as he freed them, rubbing Starsky's toes and arches tenderly. "Anything hurt?"
"Not down there."
"My shoulders are killin' me, but with what you're doin' on my feet, they can wait," Starsky sighed blissfully.
"Can't have your shoulders protesting." Hutch pressed deeply with his thumbs on the bottoms of Starsky's feet then moved up the body to unclip the wrist cuffs from the headboard. Starsky couldn't help a groan of pain as his strained muscles screamed out the change, and he curled over in a fetal position for a moment, hugging his arms to his chest. Hutch made gentle circles on his naked back, kissing him so softly it was almost like a spring wind caressing his shoulder blades. "Tell me when you're ready for a nice hot bath."
"I can't move."
"Yes, you can. A glass of wine in the bath, and you'll be limp as a noodle."
"As opposed to feeling like I hit a brick wall?" Starsky quipped, still feeling light headed. "I'm sorry, Hutch..."
"Nothin' to be sorry about. I know that feeling all too clearly. You remember there were days just after the academy when you'd come to pick me up and I said I had a hangover?"
"Yeah." Starsky recalled wondering if his then new best friend had a drinking problem, but had never pushed too hard to find out. Then after his divorce, the problem seemed to vanish over night.
"Post-bondage hangover more like. A hot bath and a massage works best, but there were nights I stumbled past Vanessa and little knots of people still half tied up, then raced home just in time to get dressed in my blues to go to work."
"Man, an' I know how I felt after you...after being hit with the strap." Starsky sat up, amazed that Hutch was revealing all this to him. It was like reading new undiscovered chapters of a book he'd thought he had he knew by heart and then trying to integrate them into the story he already knew.
"I didn't get whipped very often," Hutch admitted. "Maybe only two or three times ever. Vanessa liked it though, a lot."
"That's the hardest part, so far." Starsky pushed his foot forward so his toes were overlapping Hutch's. They played footsy, with Starsky winning, claiming Hutch's ankles with the soles of his feet before Hutch took charge again with a half-hearted slap on Starsky's knee. "It just plain hurts, even when it's a good hurt. But the bondage..." Starsky grinned, "Sometimes I can get hard just thinkin' about it."
"You do, huh?" Hutch encircled the ankle lying next to his with long fingers, applying just enough pressure to make Starsky squirm. "That's good, cause I have some plans about tomorrow morning."
"Always got plans."
"Like a Boy Scout, got to be prepared, Starsk." Hutch released his slave's ankle, getting off the bed. "I'll tell you in the bathtub."
"Together?" Starsky asked hopefully.
"Of course, have you seen the size of this thing? There's enough room for an orgy." He threw open the bathroom door. Like the rest of the house, there was a vaguely Sultan's palace air to the room, with gold fixtures and a sky light above the tub. Hutch lit some candles that were set back into safe niches. Instantly the room was suffused with a romantic soft glow when he turned out the overhead lights.
"I wasn't exactly payin' attention to the plumbing." Starsky got up too. Stretching, his vertebrae popped loudly when he bent forward to relieve the cramped tension in his back. "Well, except yours." He got distracted watching Hutch move around the tiled room setting the next scene. The candles caught the delicate highlights of Hutch's pale blond hair, silvering the edges so he looked like some divine being in a classical painting.
Hutch chuckled, collecting fluffy burgundy towels and some bath salts. He turned on the tap to fill the deep tub. Adding the salts, he adjusted the hot water a little before turning on the Jacuzzi jets. "Everybody into the pool."
"Can we play Marco Polo?" Starsky asked, checking to see where Hutch's most intimate parts were before he closed his eyes. He unerringly found the part of the anatomy he'd been aiming for without sight.
"Careful, slave," Hutch snapped, all dominant again. "You just earned yourself a demerit for touching what is off limits until I say so."
"Yes, sir." Starsky froze, his eyes snapping open. He'd forgotten his place again and would have to live with the consequences.
"Get in the tub. You're all covered in chocolate."
The water was almost but not quite too hot. Starsky had to slip in slowly, letting his body acclimate, but once completely submerged, his various aches and pains seemed to melt in the soothing waters. Hutch washed Starsky's body and then Starsky washed Hutch's. There was not so much a sexual aspect to their touching as a mutual need to feel each other's skin, to come together as soul mates and not as dominant and submissive.
"I wanna take it easy tomorrow morning, relatively speaking, and work more on some training," Hutch began when they were both leaning back against the tiled edge of the tub, the bubbles the only thing separating them.
"Training?" Starsky asked suspiciously.
"I've been so into plunging right into the fun stuff I haven't worked very hard at establishing the ground rules and your training."
"Oh, yeah." Starsky ducked his head. "Don't talk back, don't look directly at your master, do what the master tells you... The hard stuff."
"Yeah." Hutch cupped the lowered chin in the palm of his hand, raising Starsky's head until their mouths were level with each other and kissed him sweetly on the lips. Several more followed with each kiss harder than the last, until Starsky was feeling distinctly ravaged. He licked his bruised lips, watching Hutch's every move. It was almost frightening the power this man had over him and yet he didn't feel the slightest bit imprisoned. More like Hutch's dominance empowered him to be and do more than he'd ever imagined he could.
"We can work on the rules next time," Hutch continued talking. "Tomorrow will be more like...uh...exercises to stretch your muscles for the main event."
"Which muscles are we talking about?"
"Just a minute, I'm gonna go get a few things." Hutch stepped out of the tub, the water dripping off his long, elegant body. He wrapped one of the huge fluffy towels around himself, hiding the impressive view from Starsky's sight. "Pull the plug and dry yourself off. Then bundle that vinyl sheet into a ball and get back into bed."
Starsky was distinctly frustrated with having to wait and was glad to have something to do. He stared at the little pile of cuffs and collar on the corner of the marble countertop. Hutch had removed them after they'd gotten in the water and he felt more than naked without them. But he didn't touch any of the coils of leather, waiting until his master replaced them on his body.
By the time Hutch returned with a tray laden with a bottle of wine, glasses and some crackers and cheese, Starsky was sitting cross-legged on the Opium print sheets. Hutch had changed into the blue silk dressing gown he only wore when they were together like this, once again dressed while his slave was naked. He ran a loving hand down Starsky's spine, tracing the prominent vertebrae as if he were counting each one. Rubbing his thumbs in soothing circles, Hutch smiled when Starsky went practically limp without ever looking behind him, trusting the hand so near his vulnerable neck without a second thought. Hutch touched his lips to the sweet space just under the hairline, then blew air over the tiny wet spot he'd made. Starsky shivered, his whole body erupting in goosebumps simultaneously.
"Feels half good and half like you're walkin' over my grave." Starsky tried to stop the involuntary fear response that crawled up his backbone. Hutch still held the base of his skull, stroking him behind the ears with strong fingers calming the involuntary fight or flight response.
"I don't ever want to walk there," Hutch smiled sadly.
Twisting around to look up at the beautiful blond man above him, Starsky wished he could banish the haunted look that lingered on Hutch's face. "I'm here, I never really died."
"You did." Hutch picked up the collar, looking pensively at it. "You left me alone on the earth. Just for a tiny space of time, but you died, Starsk. Maybe that's why I want to keep you on a leash, so you can't escape so far next time."
"There won't be a next time, Hutch. I'm yours for the duration."
"Duration of what is the question?" Hutch joked, wrapping the collar around his slave's neck with less of a formality than earlier, but still with regal solemnity. He buckled the heavy buckle in the back, careful to avoid getting Starsky's long curls entangled and sealed the collar with a kiss over the heady scented leather. Trailing his hand once again down the naked back, Hutch traced the bullet scars still visible.
"I like your back, cause you can't see it."
"Huh? You're always accusin' me of saying things that don't mean anything."
"It's like it's all mine." Hutch spread his fingers over Starsky's scapula, kissing him directly between the two sharp bones. "Only I see it from this angle, naked and beautiful."
"Does that make your back mine?" Starsky tipped his head back as far as he could with the collar on to see Hutch.
"Nobody else has staked a claim so far." He held out a small cup of water. "Here, drink this before the wine or you'll have one hell of a headache on only one glass. You're probably pretty dehydrated."
Surprised to realize that he was, Starsky drank the water down in three swallows, luxuriating in being so cosseted. Hutch continued to lazily massage his back with long warm strokes of his hands, writing secret love messages in code with his fingernails. Starsky felt safe and loved here with Hutch, the usual elements of their violent life as detectives very far away. Carlysle's murder was solved, her murderer being assessed for her ability to stand trial, and any drug dealers and other criminals would have to do without Starsky and Hutch for a few days. He sighed with contentment, watching Hutch putter around pouring glasses of deep red wine.
Hutch grinned back at him, his eyes bright with love and linked arms with Starsky, twisting their wrists around so that each drank from the other's goblet. It was a rich, heavy flavored wine that seemed to go straight to Starsky's head. He attacked the food ravenously, neither of them caring that they got crumbs on the sheets. While they were eating, Hutch brought out a small box, placing it between them on the bed. He didn't refer to it in the least, just ate a few more crackers as if there were nothing mysterious sitting there like undiscovered treasure.
"So, am I allowed to ask what's in the box?" Starsky asked when he felt he'd endured the suspense long enough. Hutch brushed off his hands, taking longer than necessary to place the tray and wine on the floor before carefully opening the box.
"Have you ever seen one of these before?" he pulled out a small rubber object shaped vaguely like a joystick on an arcade game. It was about four inches long and wasn't quite as wide as three fingers. It flared slightly wider in the middle than at the top, then narrowed to a thin neck supported by a flat base.
Downing the last of the fruity wine in one gulp, Starsky set down his glass and took the small toy, turning it around with a slight frown. "At Uncle Sal's toy store," he joked half-heartedly. "You want to stick that up inside me?"
"That's the smallest one." Hutch handed him a second butt plug that was an inch longer and about that much wider, maybe a shade smaller than his cock when fully engorged. "Here's the medium-sized one. I won't show you the biggest one until we need it. For tonight, just get used to the idea of having those up your ass."
"Yeah, that's a tall order." Starsky swallowed audibly, wondering how much bigger the biggest one could be and did he really want to know.
"Don't worry about it so much," Hutch said, taking the toys and stowing them back in the box. "You've had me up there plenty of times, these are smaller."
"Yeah, piece a' cake," Starsky said shakily, but curled into Hutch's embrace, cuddling up to the warm, smooth chest. "Nothing to it at all." With the wine and the long day Starsky was so exhausted he fell asleep in this safe enclosure just as he'd barely finished his sentence.
Hutch tried to succumb to the sandman, but sleep was elusive. After forcing himself to relax, closing his eyes tightly and them trying to coordinate his breath rate with Starsky's slow steady pace, he gave up. His mind was still going in a million different directions and he couldn't quite pin any one thread of ideas down long enough to follow it through. He was high on the power of his role, giddy with his success. He couldn't help going over the day's activities, checking them for what had worked and what hadn't, studying his plays like the coach before his high school football games. Being the dominant kept him on his toes mentally at all times. There were so many elements to juggle. Was the submissive safe? Was he enjoying what was being done to him? Was the master getting what he needed from the games as well? Were both parties satisfied with their experiences? So far, Hutch had to give things a resounding thumbs up.
He lay on his right side watching shadows play chiaroscuro games across Starsky's puckish features. The moonbeams slid like silver across the bed, flocking the outlines of the furniture like frost on a freezing day. The diamond glinting in Starsky's left ear caught the shifting beams, shining like a beacon in the dark, beckoning Hutch closer. His hand hovered near the tempting jewel before he allowed himself to just brush the surface of his lover's hair.
Outside the safety of the house brisk winds tossed the clouds across the lunar face, but here in the bed, peacefulness reigned. Sometimes the room gleamed with moonlight and at other moments it was dark and velvety as the emptiness of space. When he could no longer see the person next to him, Hutch reached out to lay his palm flat on Starsky's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He had such a staggering love for his partner, sometimes it was like a physical thing that he needed to hold in his hand.
The intoxicating psychic rush he'd gotten when Starsky had completely surrendered while deep-throating him had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced previously. The aftereffects still rippled through his system, giving him the sense of a vampire feeding off the power of his victims. More powerful than the rush of adrenaline when he was in the midst of a gunfight, it was seductively addictive. Hutch hungered for this power, but was equally afraid of it. He kept imagining it as some fearsome beast running roughshod over his common sense, spilling over into his regular life until he was dominating Starsky physically while they were trying to do their police work. That couldn't happen, especially if they decided to work out a permanent daily master/slave relationship. He didn't want to totally submerge Starsky by any means and had to constantly fight to keep their every day partnership a more equal one. Luckily, Starsky's stubborn and aggressive nature would never let him be completely dominated, but perhaps he could be tamed. That he would let Hutch do it gave Hutch a heady feeling of power and yet also a humbling responsibility.
He liked the steady thrum of Starsky's heart under his hand. He'd started sleeping with his hand like this shortly after the bandages had been removed two years before. Then it had been a sort of comfort measure--not for Starsky but for himself. To reassure himself that Starsky really still lived. Now it was almost more habit.
Earlier, it had been scary but not totally unexpected when Starsky passed out, and for just a split second he'd panicked before seeing Starsky take a shuddering intake of breath. That happened more often than anyone ever talked about, which was why cutting off the airway was such a dangerous thing to do. Therefore, Hutch wouldn't allow that kind of play very often, but he wasn't ready to discount deep-throating altogether. He vowed to study every book he could find on domination and training methods, to divine the most effective methods to use and still have sessions packed full of the most amazing sex possible.